


A Rough Guide to The World

by ivyblossom



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Etiquette Guide, Exploration of sexual tension, M/M, Poor Crowley puts up with a lot, aziraphale’s wisdom packaged into his favourite object, exploration of romantic tension, it’s difficult when you’re two different varieties of being at the same time, many many food metaphors, references to manscaping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyblossom/pseuds/ivyblossom
Summary: As the first of the Angelic Host to be given a long term field assignment in The World, and so far the only one, I thought it might be prudent to pen agospelof my own, so to speak. I thought a beautiful little primer might be just the thing to pass along my copious and well-tested learning. My tips and tricks, if you will. One must, as they say, know one’s onions if one is to blend in and provide heavenly influence here among the Lord’s creation. No need for you to start from scratch, after all. Not with me here to give you a leg up.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 59





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> A structural experiment in storytelling, with thanks to the superlative beta efforts, encouragement, and enabling of my dear friend [Bonibaru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru).

_Hello._

I am the Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, and owner of a cracking little bookshop in Soho under the name of A.Z. Fell & Co. Lovely to meet you, it’s truly an unaccustomed honour, I’m charmed I’m sure, welcome to this glorious world, old chap!

As the first of the Angelic Host to be given a long term field assignment in The World, and so far the only one, I thought it might be prudent to pen a _gospel_ of my own, so to speak.

Aren’t all the residents of Heaven as tickled as I am by beautifully published words placed in just the right order? _In the beginning_ , etc.? Delivering Good News and Tidings of Great Joy in the form of codices and tracts with beautiful coptic binding? I thought a little volume of my own, a wee angelic first and only edition, composed for the edification of my potential successor, or successors, should any ever be appointed, might be just the thing.

Or if, given the rapid expansion of the human population in recent centuries, I should ever have any colleagues ordered to join me in this important and powerful work here in The World, I thought it might be wise to pen a little manual to help get them started. I thought a beautiful little primer might be just the thing to pass along my copious and well-tested learning. My tips and tricks, if you will. One must, as they say, know one’s onions if one is to blend in and provide heavenly influence here among the Lord’s creation. No need for you to start from scratch, after all. Not with me here to give you a leg up.

Are you well? Feeling at peace? I’m wishing you all the most wonderful memories and feelings just now, to prepare you to calmly and sensibly absorb the wisdom I’ve gathered together here in this little folio. You’ll need to be in the right state of mind, of course. It wouldn’t do to be too hasty, or too full of beans. So make yourself at home. Put your feet up. 

Yes, I meant that: conjure yourself a soft and squishy chair, or chaise, or sofa, and sit yourself down upon it. Rest your feet on a brocade footstool or velvet ottoman. Explore a variety of positions until you find one that your corporation responds to the very best. Relax: go all loose and wobbly, like a towering jelly. Dwell on the concept of _comfort_. I know: it’s very foreign. But you need this concept for everything else to make sense. Comfort is the first step before understanding its blissful elder sister, _pleasure._

You see? Take your time with it. Settle in. That’s my first lesson, the lesson that precedes all the others. The necessity of _pleasure_.

Pleasure is a very important concept here in the world. For an Angel to spend any significant amount of time in The World without exploring the various ways that a corporation can experience _pleasure_ is like going to all the trouble to make a beautiful brioche, and then not bothering to bake it. It’s simply unthinkable. It’s wasteful and a tragedy. 

And yes: I’m aware that some angels would disagree on this crucial point. Gabriel, for a start. But _some angels_ aren’t the ones who have been stationed in The World for six thousand years, nor are they the ones writing this little book. And I’ll tell you the truth: without understanding _pleasure_ , you’ll never understand Humans. And without understanding them, how can you even begin to effectively influence them?

Have you smelled a baking brioche yet? Have you tasted one shortly after it’s come out of the oven, slathered in butter? If so, I think you’ll see my point. 

Miracle yourself up a glass of claret, if you like. If you’ve made a friend here as I did, he might bring over a bottle of something daring with a stupendously high alcohol content for you to try. Every distiller reserves a portion for you, an offering: it’s called the Angel’s Share. It’d be churlish to reject it. In fact, I recommend a tipple or two of nippitaty to help you along your way. Think of it as a celebration of the beginning of your journey here in the world. With perhaps a little plate of nibbles to go along with it, to be responsible. A little cheese wouldn’t hurt. Or a slice of pie. Have you tried a meringue? Conjure up whatever you fancy; one must find one’s inner angelic joy whilst in The World, after all. It must pour out of us in spite of the limited dimensions. Good company also helps, if you can find it. Listen to your instincts: your corporation has them. They’re fascinating. They will point you in the right direction.

Now: before we get started with the practicalities of succeeding, you’ll need to grasp that most of what you think you know about the world is probably incorrect. 

From here on in, approach any situation involving people, biology, culture, social mores, history, the passage of time, instincts, theatre, music, art, brioche, and any other critical aspects of human existence with all humility. They are not what you have been told they are. They are infinitely more than that. 

Bring to this task an open mind, and a willingness to learn and adjust your thinking. It wouldn’t do to forcibly reshape human society into a poor replica of Heaven by accident, would it: we’re meant to leave people to direct the proceedings themselves, and that’s what we shall do. Our mission is to let them take the lead down here, and letting them lead means we must be willing to follow. Let them show you what it means to be made in Her image, to have free will, to make choices, to have preferences. To make good decisions and bad ones. What you experience here will surprise you and, if you’re at all like me, it will change you. In a wonderful way. Be not afraid, angel! There is a great deal to love in The World.

Now, if you’re comfortable, with a drink of your choice in hand, and, if your experience is anything like mine has been, you’ll hear the soothing sound of a familiar demon snoring lightly as he kips on your sofa. With all those key elements in place, let us begin.


	2. Your Corporation: What Can and Cannot to be Expected From It

Congratulations, friend! You are now in possession of your very own Corporation! Spiffing!

You will be experiencing The World through your Corporation on a mostly permanent basis from here on in, so you’ll want to learn all about it. Get yourself in front of a mirror and get a good look at it. Admire it. Pat it. Stroke it. You’re a dishy bugger, old fellow, enjoy it! 

If this is your first encounter with four dimensional living, take a little time to get used to how it all works and feels. Ball the hands into fists, stretch out the limbs. Observe the shape and lustre of the nails. Run the fingers through the hair and observe its textures. Bend the knees. Reach down and touch the floor; can you feel how the hips rotate? How the belly shifts? How the lower back and thighs strongly object? Rub your palms against the curve of your backside: isn’t it marvellous? it’s a thing of beauty, ready to be admired! In sum: explore the _physicality_ of your new form. Feel the way it resists gravity, the way its muscles stretch and give when you move. Feel the way you inhabit every cell of your Corporation, how it all works together under your control. It’s quite a feat of engineering.

If you aren’t a natural at driving and steering your Corporation, take heart: it’s not as easy as it looks to step from your angelic form, unlimited by time and space, to this more linear and physical existence pinned to ball of a molten lava and tectonic plates careening speedily through space and time. It’s just as difficult for a demon to fold themselves into this form and manipulate it successfully, if that gives you any comfort. Don’t think of it as a lesser or truncated form of being: the dimensions of the human experience are many, in spite of, nay, because of its limitations! You’ll get there, old chum. Give it time and attention, and soon you’ll be striding through The World like a virtuoso!

You won’t believe it, not yet, but I must confess, I am more comfortable in my corporated form than in any other. Only in this form can I sit at my desk as I do just now, pen in hand, smelling the beautiful aroma of my cocoa, feeling the warm earthenware mug against my fingers, and watching the fourth dimension sequentially order the various decisions and actions I can see on display on the street outside my shop. In this form, I can hear only the hum of automobiles whizzing past, the fleeting bits of conversations and laughter, and a lorry reversing somewhere nearby. Meanwhile, I am blithely ignoring the pointed stare of an erstwhile patron who, in spite of his most hopeful intentions, will not find himself able to alert me to his presence, and thus will not be purchasing that Oscar Wilde edition from A.Z. Fell & Co. on this fine day. The purity of it, the simplicity! I find it highly enjoyable.

Angels make the mistake of assuming that a Corporation is essentially a suit that is donned in order to perform a task in The World, without pausing to observe that it is in fact a fundamental alteration of a celestial being. An alteration and an _addition,_ in fact. This Corporation will become part of who you are, and it will bring you new sensations, appetites, desires, and ideas that you wouldn’t have dreamed up at all without it. It modulates and changes you. Prepare yourself!

A human Corporation has multiple dimensions to share with you, minus, of course, the most obvious nineteen. These human dimensions are bespoke, invented and built by the Humans themselves over the centuries. They are whorls carved out of pleasures and appetites, they are art, language, metaphor, and expression. Give your corporate existence the benefit of the doubt on this score. Listen to it, feel it. You can witness these curious and often surprisingly powerful human dimensions if you embrace the form you’ve been given. 

Because of the nature of your mission, I strongly recommend that you make jolly good friends with your Corporation. Let it unlock the human experience for you. Always remember that the Lord made _Humans_ in Her image, not you or I. When we accept a Corporation, consider that we are accepting the gift of an opportunity to become more like our Creator. Wear your Corporation with honour, and treat it with respect. 

Word to the wise: if you let it get mangled, bashed, or discorporated, the paperwork will be a nightmare. They weren’t exaggerating about that when you signed the Terms of Service. You might be caught up in processing for eras untold before they’ll issue you another. They might not let you back at all, depending on how spectacular the cock up that got you discorporated. So best to avoid all that mess if you can. You can’t always, especially when the Humans get all excited with their pointy sticks or metal tubes that spit out small bits of lead. But if you act cautiously and follow my advice, you can pass through relatively unscathed. 

**Breathing**

Humans need to breathe to survive. Technically, you do not. I strongly recommend that, as a first project, you teach yourself to breathe regularly, and learn to make it an autonomic habit. 

Breathe in, wait a beat, breathe out. Breathe in, wait a beat, breathe out. Once you get going, it’s a doddle. 

Breathing in public is terribly important for two reasons: first, because human speech requires that air run across the human voice box, so constant breathing keeps you primed to speak, like an inflated set of bagpipes; and second, because the people you encounter will be extremely frightened of you if you do not breathe. There are horror stories about non-breathing creatures, and you can imagine where those came from. 

Breathe as though you need to, even when you’re alone. It becomes a comforting activity, an act of mindfulness, a reminder of the beautiful place where you’ve found yourself, and the importance of your mission. Breathe in, breathe out: enjoy it!

**Your Nine Senses: Yes, Only Nine**

As you know, while you are in corporate form on Earth, you are not truly human. You can experience everything they can experience, including pain and corporeal death, but you remain an angel, and you retain your angelic senses. That can be a double-edged sword, quite honestly. I strongly recommend that you reduce most of your natural senses, and give more attention to the following: 

  1. **Time Perception.** As a relatively new dimension, time will only be passingly familiar to you. Give yourself as much time perception capability as you can. Even the tiniest gradations of time are marked and are meaningful to mortal life on Earth. If you can’t tell the difference between ten seconds, ten days, and ten years, you’ll arrive either far too early or inexcusably late for dinner parties. Above all, angels should strive to be good guests, and to never be late for supper.  
  

  2. **Thermoception**. Humans have a very kludgy sense of temperature that ranges from about -12C to maybe 45C or 50C at the top end. They understand this range in the following terms: bloody freezing, cold, chilly, fresh, tepid, fine, warm, hot, and too hot for Satan’s arsehole. Do not expect a Human to understand the temperature differences between, say, the moon and Venus. They cannot conceive of the temperature of the sun. Your Corporation will send you warnings when you come in contact with environments or objects below the freezing point of water, or above the boiling point of water: heed these warnings.  
  

  3. **Vision**. Most, though not all, Humans rely heavily on their sense of sight. Scale back the scope of your vision as dictated by the cones and rods in the backwards-wired eyes that come with your Corporation. This way, you will ensure that you’re seeing what Humans see, and not responding and reacting to things they can’t. But don’t remove your ability to see the spectral range entirely: if a demon is attempting to cloak himself from Humanity while doing his evil deeds, you’ll want to be aware of him. You will always have the ability to revert to your full range of vision when necessary. I frequently do. But focus on creating the most human experience for yourself possible.  
  
The demon Crowley has unique eyes with a very different and restricted colour range, but his eyes are much better able to see motion than mine or a Human’s eyes are. This difference has never impeded him, as far as I’m aware. Quite the opposite, in fact: on several occasions, when he’s been concentrating intently on something and I have observed that his hair is falling into his face, I have reached over to tuck it behind his ear, and in every instance he has seen it coming, and angled his head to make the action easier.  
 **  
**
  4. **Audition**. For the most part, sounds you hear in The World will fall within a very narrow band, so there is no need to physically mute most of the audio ranges. You’ll certainly want to know when another angel is speaking to you privately, for instance, or if the Almighty calls your name from on high.  
  
Please note: You may find the background tone of the universe a little grating over time. There’s no reason not to turn that band down to zero; it’s only ever the constant and everlasting drone of celestial harmonies. One evening, in what would one day become Greece, after the third bottle of mead, Crowley and I discovered we could shut it off. It’s a beautiful sound, yes, but once you have a well-developed sense of the passage of time, the constant and unchanging universal drone will make you a little snappish.  
  

  5. **Olfaction**. The scents you’ll encounter here are many; some pleasant, some quite putrid, but all interesting. They mainly fall within a limited range, and the human sense of smell is so scant as to be almost vestigial, so the necessary ones are few. I once inspired a very nice Cypriot woman to invent perfumery, which, thankfully, certain classes have become very drawn to. Be glad you weren’t around for the thirteenth century: many of the Humans were eye-wateringly pungent about then. The miasma of plague is unforgettable and something to a give a miss, given the opportunity. Tragedies often smell terrible.  
  
There will be times when you’ll want to scale back your olfactory capacities significantly, if not entirely. Follow your instincts on that score, dear fellow! But do ensure that you have a decent enough sniffer to select yourself a top drawer cologne, and that you are able to scent out evil when it lurks nearby.  
  
A well-groomed demon does not smell of brimstone. Nor does he smell of decay. Just like you, he smells human, which is a sort of buttery, living smell, like the smell of an excellent supper waiting on the other side of a door. I can only faintly smell Crowley’s demonic energy surging underneath, which, while smelling clean and pleasant, also smells dangerous, like the stalk of a tomato plant.  
  
A poorly-groomed demon smells of poo.  
  

  6. **Proprioception**. This is a little-used sense for us in our original forms, and I’m not sure most angels even know it exists; it is the ability to sense the positioning of your Corporation in space. This sense is monstrously important whilst on Earth. Angels who have no awareness what their bodies are up to will not be trusted by Humans, and may find themselves sent along to institutions for the mentally ill-prepared, burned as witches, or labeled as village idiots. Dial that one up, especially as you’re getting used to physical corporation. If you become obsessed with the positioning of your Corporation to the point it distracts you from your work or other pleasures, dial it down.  
  
 ****
  7. **Gustation**. This is, without a doubt, my favourite of the human senses. This is your ability to taste, and in particular, to taste foods. Angels are entirely unfamiliar with this one from a pleasure perspective, so I recommend that you explore it thoroughly now that you’ve got the chance to. It’s especially important to keep your sense of taste tuned to the human palette for daily use. There’s no point being able to taste nitrogen or carbon while in human form; it will overwhelm the wonderful but more subtle tastes of everything available in The World to put in your mouth, and that would be a crying shame. You’re in for a real treat on this front, my friend! I believe the very best of human creation and experience is consumed via this sense. Humans, as it were, search for God with their tongues!  
  

  8. **Tacition**. Or the tactile senses, the sense of touch. Humans gain a great deal of information by touching things, and not just with their hands. They use their entire bodies to glean information in different ways. So ensure you’re giving sufficient attention to the information coming from the epidermis of your Corporation. It can be very pleasurable.  
  
The demon Crowley has scoffed at me. He disagrees with my assertion that taste is the most pleasurable human sense. I feel perhaps I am missing something. He is amused by my surprise at his opinion on the matter. He claims that touch is the obvious pleasure sense. I have no idea what he’s talking about. How many people touch the demon Crowley, other than me? I don’t believe demons touch each other very often, though I suppose I might be mistaken. Perhaps he means the feeling of speed, or the wind against his face: Crowley likes to drive his car at perilous speeds.  
  
It’s possible that demons don’t have as acute and cultured a sense of taste as I clearly have. Though I have had many a meal with Crowley, and he has enjoyed them nearly as much as I have. Or so I’d thought. Am I missing a crucial factor? I will confer with him in order to learn more, and will write more on this subject when I’ve got a handle on it.  
  
 ****
  9. **Nociception**. This one is a bugger, and no one would blame you for leaving it at the lowest level possible. This is the sense that allows you to feel pain. There is a practical purpose for it: pain helps you understand the boundaries and limits of your Corporation and those of others: it trains you to tread carefully and not accidentally get your fingers lopped off. But your Corporation is sensitive to all kinds of pain, and it registers experiences as painful that it rightly shouldn’t. A stubbed toe, for instance, is far more painful than it has any business being. The smallest cut from a slip of paper feels like the roof’s collapsed on you. And to add insult to injury, you will experience pain for other reasons beyond physical damage to your Corporation.  
  
If you’ve made a mistake, or caused offense, or thoughtlessly created a situation whereby you’ve hurt a dear, dear friend, and you have made him feel too vulnerable or too exposed, and you are suddenly unable to respond to him as he had hoped you would, the experience will register as pain of the most desperate kind. When you can see him removing his emotions from his face so that you won’t see how much you’ve hurt him, it will register as agony. This is, by far, the least pleasant human sense. Perhaps it would be best to do away with it entirely. I am certainly tempted to.



A note: life in The World can be confusing, and adopting a Corporation comes with certain appetites and risks. I have made an error. I hope that by relating that error to you, you will find a way to avoid causing the same kind of harm.

When you were issued your Corporation, it did not come equipped with organs of generation. You can blame the so-called “Sons of God” for that. What a disaster that was. There are very strict rules about that sort of thing nowadays. We aren’t authorised to impregnate or become impregnated by Humans, obviously. Those poor Nephilim weren’t right in the head, if you ask me. 

If I am ever granted an exit interview, I will explain why, in spite of that terrible mistake, it’s a poor idea to assign us to The World without genitals. It marks us as far too different, and it’s off-putting to those we are here to guide and influence. For Humans, it is difficult to trust someone without genitalia. If you don’t understand what these organs mean to them, their behaviour will be incomprehensible, and will likely seem a bit rude.

All Humans have organs of generation, in spite of the fact that not all of them procreate. Human genitals serve other purposes beyond procreation, and not having any at all becomes plainly noticeable and frankly terrifying for Humans at certain moments. One cannot saunter into a _balineum_ with no genitals, after all. 

Because of the disappointingly common binary human understanding of gender, one also needs to decide how to present oneself: male, female, or something less defined, something between and/or beyond those two options. There are too many or no rules and guidelines at all for each of these, but all have their limitations and risks. The genital configuration amongst these are only slightly different, but your clothing is expected to change radically depending on which variety of genitalia you’re sporting, often with surprisingly little room for ambiguity. When Crowley comfortably (and very fetchingly) dressed as a woman, and then revealed his male genitalia at the women’s _apodyterium_ in the early first century, my goodness, that was a hullabaloo. These things are needlessly complicated.

All that to say: spend some time thinking about what gender you’d like to settle into, because there will be consequences and limitations no matter your choice. There’s a fair bit to learn before you can present yourself as any human gender, so find a safe place to explore. You’re welcome to switch between them, particularly as you move between geographical locations, or over time. Certain cultures are more open to those who do not adopt just one or other, and you might find yourself drawn to those. In any case, it’s a question you need to find an answer to. Once you’ve chosen your approach to gender, design yourself some genitals and get used to wearing them. You’ll need to keep them on, just in case. Learn all about how they function. They can surprise you at the oddest times.

Which brings me to my mistake. Learn from my blunders, old chum.

When I told Crowley that I thought taste was the most pleasurable of the senses, he laughed at me. 

“You think taste is more pleasurable than touch?” He looked very amused, as though I were missing something embarrassingly obvious. I finished penning my paragraph, and turned my attention to him. He was standing very close to me, and I began to wonder if I knew what he was driving at.

From the start, neither of us really knew very much about our Corporations. That’s why I’m writing this little volume: we learned a lot through trial and error, and through observation. No one told us about the capacity of human genitalia to become, well, erect: Crowley and I learned about that at the same time, in a shady little pool outside of Eden one afternoon, not long after Adam and Eve scarpered. I can’t be blamed for sharing a very intimate and very pleasurable moment with a demon when neither of us knew what intimacy or pleasure even were at the time! It was lovely, but a little frightening at first, and I was glad I wasn’t alone. I thought perhaps I’d broken it. Crowley thought it might be a demonic thing, that he might have accidentally cursed me. He was very, very apologetic afterwards. But we learned soon enough that it wasn’t his fault.

Today’s mistake wasn’t his fault, either. I have been careless for a long while. I can only blame myself.

When Crowley stepped closer to me, deeply amused, I turned from my desk to look up at him. I still had my pen in my hand. He reached out and cupped my cheek. His fingers stroked me behind my ear, and his thumb rested on my cheekbone. His eyes: he had taken his sunglasses off. He was looking at me, full of fun and affection. Then suddenly, with hunger, as if I were a delicacy he was longing to taste. 

I melted like a bit of cheese on hot toast.

Humans have appetites, hungers: these are senses of a kind as well, senses that drive them to indulge in the things they need to survive. They become thirsty so that they drink; they become hungry so that they eat. They become lustful so that they reproduce. You and I do not have these appetites, supposedly: while I know we aren’t meant to be capable of human hungers, I cannot deny that I felt something akin to it at that moment. 

This is why I say that your Corporation will change you: at times, and sometimes beyond your own intentions and power, you will want things you cannot, and should not, have.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. I believe he was still making his point about the very pleasurable nature of the human sense of touch, and it was indeed a compelling point. If we were both prepared to make light of it, I would suggest to him that, from the start, he was simultaneously demonstrating the superiority of both touch and taste, which is a powerful combination, and meant we were both right. But it’s probably best not to mention it.

I believe he intended to be playful. The problem with human senses and the development of appetites, old bean, is that they can unexpectedly overcome you, and cause you to engage in behaviours you know very well are just not cricket. In the moment, however, you simply cannot bring yourself to care. That is the power and the danger of your Corporation. Heed my warning!

Things progressed a little further than I’m inclined to describe here in these pages, but suffice it to say that we had relocated to the back room of the shop, I had become very aware of his physical state, so to speak, not unlike those early days outside the of Eden, and he was intimately aware of mine. Some minor disrobing had occurred. The urge to continue on was agonising. The look on his face, the familiar smell of him, the sound of his voice in his breath, the heat of his skin: it was a complete human experience, from top to tail. Every human sense was very heartily included. But before long I returned to my angelic senses and put a stop to things. An angel and a demon are not meant to, well. To _make love_ , as it were.

I believe my exact words were, “This has been a flashkick, dear boy, but, er...point made, don’t you think?” I was awkward. I had reached for my bow tie, which he had undone not long before and draped over the arm of my chair.

His face fairly crumbled. 

It genuinely wasn’t his fault. In the last several decades we have become very close, and I have not exactly been cautious about patting his knee or clutching at his hand from time to time. He has often fallen asleep against my shoulder, or in my lap with me stroking his hair. That’s why I’ve got a little couch in the backroom of the shop, in fact. From the standpoint of intimacy, that’s hardly far off playfully leaning down and kissing me on the lips to make a point, is it. He was not taking liberties, and he was not aiming to tempt me. It was not a demonic act, even if accomplished by a genuine demon. We were simply two ethereal beings caught in a whirlpool of human senses. It had no meaning, not really. No harm, no foul.

Though: some harm. I hurt him, I could see it quite plainly. The scant seconds that I could see that pain on his face was agony. He steeled himself into some semblance of his normal, easy-going, care-free expression, and said, “Yeah, yeah, of course, sure.” He paused, swallowed, and looked down as he zipped up his flies. He was breathing hard, so used to the act of habitual breathing that he continued even here with me, with no one watching. “So you concede defeat, then.” I could still hear the rough pain and vulnerability in his voice. I was smoothing out my hair and my own errant emotions, and turned my back to him. He deserved a little privacy, at the very least.

“I concede you have a point,” I said over my shoulder. “Defeat, no, my dear. Never!” It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but I fear he read it as a further rejection. He tied his shoes and made a feeble excuse to leave. “Mind how you go,” I said, my back still turned for his comfort. He didn’t respond.

They will tell you a number of awful things about demons, and I daresay most of what they say is true. But no matter what your original nature, spending human time in a human Corporation, surrounded by Humans, experiencing human senses and appetites, immersed in the sensuality of human culture: it will change you, angel or demon. The Corporation gets carried away sometimes.

Best to not lose your head. You have a mission, old chap, it’s the Great Plan. Keep it in mind.


	3. On Humans, and Their Varied But Entirely Effable Plans

My dear successor, you must admit it: Humans are _marvellous_. Humans, the last of God’s creations, really are Her finest work. Wouldn’t you say? Look around you! See what they have created, see how original and inventive they are!

Angels tend to get a little haughty about Humans, given their short lives and their limited perspectives. Many of us measure the Humans’ distance from the Almighty and think less of them for it. There’s also the volume of knowledge that has been kept from them, and the scope of what they weren’t granted the ability to understand: it sends a message, doesn’t it. But Angels who think this way simply aren’t paying attention. Humans are spot-on proof that limitations and flaws can be the making of something absolutely transcendent. Divine, if you will. Humans have something we shall never have, old chap: they have free will.

**On Free Will, Creativity, and Choice**

As I write these lines, I am waiting in an adorable little café a few streets from my bookshop. It’s one of the haunts of the demon Crowley at the moment, as it forms the basis for one of his current jobs. He’s made friends with all the baristas, they just adore him. He’s encouraging them to unionise, and he’s getting on terribly well. They make a beautiful flat white, and serve the most scrumptious little scones. I’ve come here to write this part of my guide book, because from here I can draw inspiration from the Humans flitting about their lives and getting on with things, and I can observe their remarkable ability to make choices of all kinds.

Where Humans are concerned, _choice_ is what the Great Plan is all about. The role of humanity is to make one specific and momentous choice, between their Creator and The Adversary. And following that, of course, the rest of us don the appropriate headgear, go to our respective battle stations, the Side of the Light triumphs, the Kingdom of Heaven rejoices, the Great Beast is destroyed, Heaven’s War is Finally At An End, etc. etc. I’m told there will be sandwiches afterwards, but I have a sinking suspicion Gabriel was only mocking me.

As I understand it, I’ll be expected to play a _trumpet._ Brass instruments aren’t really my strength, if I’m honest. I prefer woodwinds. I suppose as the time gets closer, I’ll need to practice my embouchure. 

In any case: Humans have free will in order to make that one choice: Good or Evil. This element of The Great Plan is essentially a popularity contest where Humans call in to vote, and woe betide any who select the wrong contestant. It’s like _Strictly_ , but with more bloodshed, earthquakes, genocide, and sackcloth. 

Angels and demons do not have a very good grip on time, or on entropy. These are concepts exclusive to the human realm of gravity and physics, so not our specialism at all. As far as I know, Heaven has not changed in the six thousand years that I’ve been down here. Every time I go up to Head Office, the decor, the style, the selection at the buffet, none of it changes in the least. And why would it? Angels have no interest in variety. Our goal is only perfection. It’s how we began, it’s how we exist, and it defines everything we do. So far so obvious, yes?

This is something you need to understand about Humans: there is no one _perfection_ for them, nothing they can all agree on. It’s not them failing to live up to the brief, as many Angels assume; it’s part of their design. For them, a perfect thing, like this scone, is transient. Perfection is subjective, because they are constantly on the move towards the new, the now, the _novel._

Today, this little scone with clotted cream and damson jam is as close to perfection as it can be, as far as the Human who made it is concerned. But tomorrow, when, I don’t know, currants might be having a moment, or gooseberry jam, or seed cakes with honey will be the done thing, or goodness knows what, the change will upset the moment’s calculation of perfection. The idea of the perfect accompaniment to my flat white will suddenly be something else.

Crowley prefers marmite on toast, if asked, and if he’s in the mood for a nibble at a certain time of the day. But he’ll accept a scone or an apricot danish if it’s what’s on.

It’s his favourite table I’ve got, right by the window with an unobstructed view of the street. I can nearly see the entrance to his block of flats from here.

The human notion of perfection changes depending on context, who’s involved, or what’s popular and daring. Their capacity to make choices is so central to life here in The World that the idea of perfection as we understand it vanishes into the ether. This perfect scone, served for every meal, day after day, is, for Humans, a demonic torture rather than a heavenly state of grace. Without _variety_ , without _choice_ , Humans cannot feel blessed.

As a glorious side effect of creating a creature with the moral, intellectual, and emotional ability to cast one meaningful vote in the competition that is The Great Plan, our Lord created a people with astounding creativity. Because they don’t just make that one choice: they make millions of choices. 

Humans have a reflection of the Almighty’s ability to _create_ , and they are constantly developing and eschewing fleeting preferences that make them all so different from each other at every given moment. While the Host of Heaven can raise their ten million voices together and create one perfect celestial note, and the Host of Hell can hoist their backsides aloft and blast forth a uniformly dissonant chorus of perpetual flatuosity, every person on earth would create a unique variation on the concept of a Joyful “Noise”, very much including this most perfect scone. 

You see the problem. We think the choice is so clear: Good or Evil, us or them, the light or the darkness. The right answer is obvious to us. But Humans invented their own, third option: unlimited, ever-changing variety. The human alternative is not a single choice, but every option they can dream up, using time to amplify and expand the range of possibilities and combinations they can experience in even their short lifetimes. And it’s hard to argue that what they’ve built here in The World isn’t a genuine contender for the best choice among the three, once you’ve lived in it and understand it. It isn’t a trite backdrop for us to enact our morality play: The Human World is a work of outsider art.

Human votes don’t appear to mean much in the end, which is perplexing. They can vote one way or the other, yes, but the judges end up making all the meaningful decisions, don’t you think? It really is just like _Strictly._

The baristas tell me they haven’t seen Crowley today. They’re giving me looks filled with such charming sympathy. They’re adorable, I can barely keep myself from cooing! Humans are so imaginative they can take two bits of information and craft a six course meal from them. They think Crowley and I are an item. Today they’re sure that we’ve had a row, and that he’s stood me up. Bless! 

In truth, I had hoped to orchestrate an accidental meeting today, to establish that all is well between us, but it was not to be, apparently. Well, no mind. I had a productive little chat with Cindy, the last hold out, about her colleagues’ unionising efforts, and without a single miracle on my part, she signed her card. So all is not lost. Another victory for Heaven!

Both Crowley and I are working on the unionisation effort, in case that wasn’t clear. The difference between a hellish job and a heavenly one isn’t nearly as easy to spot as you’d imagine. It can get quite muddy at times. In fact, muddy should be the byword of being assigned to The World.

For example, six thousand years ago I gave Adam the burning sword I was issued to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden. But I have to wonder: guard it against whom? Crowley? He was inside the gate from the beginning. Eve? She was a force to be reckoned with, no question, but she was heavily pregnant at the time, and wouldn’t pose any kind of realistic threat to the Eastern Gate even if she weren’t. Adam? Steady on! There’s no way I was going to run _him_ through. Me, kill a half-naked, unarmed, homeless, distraught, soon-to-be father of all humankind? I think not. Was that disobedience on my part? Or was it simply the beginning of a more nuanced understanding of my mission? To this very day I genuinely have no idea.

And what happens when you do what feels right to you and follow an instinct likely born of your Corporation? When you allow the world of flesh to encourage you to make choices in the moment just like Humans do? To follow a preference, a novel idea, a desire? When that choice leads you to indulge in something that might not be entirely cricket as far as the Powers That Be are concerned? What if, in the process, you somehow cause harm to someone you care for? 

Angels are not designed for such things, but they cannot always be avoided while within a Corporation. It’s not clear whether what you’re experiencing is a heavenly impulse, a hellish one, or neither. It’s not obvious when you’ve coloured outside of the lines, as it were, because there are shocking few lines in The World when you get up close. 

I’m having a bit of a wobble about what happened between Crowley and I the other day, if I’m honest. I know it’s nothing, but I can’t stop fussing about it.

I fear the sternly-worded memo, it’s true, but I’m certain I could explain myself quite easily to Head Office if I had to. That’s not what’s got my bonce in a tizzy. It’s Crowley. I’m not sure how it’s sitting with him. I ran a bit hot and cold, didn’t I. It might have been confusing. It might have been hurtful. Yes, he is technically a demon, but even so, I have no desire to hurt him. Hell is difficult enough for him to contend with without me contributing. I had half-convinced myself that he would have written it off as a lark, but somehow I don’t think he has. He’s not springing back the way I expected he would. I haven’t heard from him in several days. I am troubled.

And that’s something for you to keep in mind: sometimes, life in The World will cause you to have a wobble. In spite of your perfect understanding of Good and Evil, you will at times feel deeply uncertain about some action you’ve taken. You will end up turning it over constantly, never reaching a definitive answer, until it wears grooves into your brain. It’s very distracting.

There is a group of human professionals dedicated almost exclusively to listening to others grind on and on about their mundane wobbles and agonies: they’re known as barbers. They can always be relied upon to give good advice. My current barber is in Denmark Street. His name is Nigel.

As it seems that my attempt to orchestrate a casual rendez-vous in this darling coffee shop is a bust, perhaps I’ll move along to more corporeal concerns, as it were. I could do with a bit of a touch up, surely. More from me later.

**On Mortality and Human Hair**

Human hair (head, face, body) grows from before the formal beginning of a human life until the very end of one. It grows before they’re born, it grows nearly every day they live, and it even appears to grow after they die, though that’s just the effect of dehydrating skin after death. Bit grim, that. 

But the constant growth of hair, and its eventual change of texture and colour with age, are wearable reminders for Humans that they are, above all, mortal inhabitants of a time-regulated universe. They have a deadline. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, etc. Humans invariably die, and that spurs them along in the choice-making.

Whilst you exist within your Corporation, your hair will not grow unless you encourage it to do so. Most Angels don’t spend enough time in their Corporations to discover this fact, but I can assure you that it’s true. 

Our Corporations are impervious to the passage of time, and between you and me, I believe that was a design error on behalf of the Quartermaster. If you select a hairstyle at the beginning and the length of your hair never changes, Humans will rapidly come to not only distrust you, but to actively fear you. They have some core sense about that kind of thing, a niggling discomfort about non-growing hair: it reads as a deeply distressing warning sign for them. 

Crowley and I learned this the hard way. He once rescued me when I was strung up and left to be eaten alive by ants because my lack of hair growth was remarked upon, and the local shaman declared me a witch. Those are the dangers we face! You might as well wander about with wings lined with eyes if you aren’t going to let your hair grow, old chum. Without making the effort, we are prominently marked out by our perfect unchangingness, and it rubs humans up the wrong way eventually.

For this reason, I encourage all of my hair to grow on a normal human schedule, and I engage in all the human grooming rituals to trim it, wash it, and remove it. Having a Human perform these actions is first and foremost a trust-building exercise, but also an assurance of safety, and, in a sense, an alibi. But as an upside, visits to my barber are so enjoyable and enlightening. I always learn something new.

Crowley changes his hair styles with the seasons, and has had a long list of barbers of his own, though I believe he often styles himself. His current barber is in North Audley Street, but I could be mistaken. I presume Crowley’s barber, like mine, knows far more about both of us than Heaven or Hell would consider seemly. And even moreso the highly professional women in the back of these shops who assist us with more, shall we say, _intimate_ grooming procedures. I haven’t had my fundament and two veg visited with this much hot wax since the Pharaohs were in power, I can tell you. Human body hair goes in and out of fashion, so keep an eye on it, and take the advice of your barber.

I was able to confirm my suspicion that Crowley takes an approach to intimate grooming that is very similar to my own. As it turns out, Angels and demons have more in common than you might imagine. Perhaps our long shared history and more limited capacity for creativity makes us more likely to make the same choices. To be fair, there aren’t any ethereal beings other than Crowley and I who have the requisite body parts for these grooming procedures, so I suppose we aren’t a statistically significant sample. Perhaps the demon they assign to you will be of the poo-scented variety who wouldn’t dream of getting his undercarriage waxed. If so, my deepest sympathies.

I have been quite lucky to have had Crowley all these years.

I popped by my barber’s for a trim this afternoon. I was due one, I had some time, and with a little miraculous assistance, so did Nigel. He wanted to hear absolutely every last detail of what happened between me and Crowley. Every single, well-waxed little detail. Who _can_ you tell if you can’t tell your barber? 

Nigel, like all Humans, is an excellent example of the breadth and scope of human inventiveness. On hearing about my choices in the realm of physical intimacy, he provided me with a remarkably comprehensive range of additional directions I could have pursued, had I not ended the festivities as early as I did. He had a number of questions for me about that choice, and I must admit, I wasn’t very confident in my answers. 

Nigel thinks I must be shy, or playing hard to get, or lacking confidence. So he’s given me two new hair products, a little bottle of lubricant from the special section of his shop, and one of his aestheticians gave my eyebrows a good once-over. Honestly: you’ll never regret finding yourself a good barber. They are worth their weight in gold, I promise you.

Nigel tells me I should ask Crowley to have a drink with me tonight. Heal the rift, re-establish that all is well. Give it another go. It might not have been the perfect choice yesterday, and it might not be the perfect choice tomorrow. But, in the human ways of things, it might be the objectively perfect choice this evening. I shall stop dilly-dallying. I’m sure Crowley has forgotten about the other night by now, he’ll probably think I’m being a silly to worry about it. 

Keep your fingers crossed for me, my dear chap!

**On Taking Human Advice: A Warning**

Not all human advice works out well. I’m not at all certain that I haven’t made things much worse. 

Surely you’re reading this little volume in order to gain some wisdom from an experienced Principality, and I’m certainly making a hash of it. I hope you can glean something useful from my mistakes.

Crowley was a little reluctant to join me at first. Damn it all, I was right to be concerned. My worst fears appear to have been correct! 

He was unassailably polite over the telephone, which I rightly took as a warning sign; he was no longer entirely at ease with me, and was resorting to politeness. Such a dreadfully effective and loathsome approach for a demon! But he agreed to have a drink, and recommended a place for us to meet. Normally we would just pull out a bottle here in my shop, but he preferred a neutral location tonight. My heart sank. We ended up in Tyburnia, sharing a little open air table in a pub garden while the weather held. It was fine. It was nice, really.

My way when I’m feeling so beastly is to throw words into the air in the hopes of getting past any awkwardness or discomfort. A wall of language plus the passage of time: surely these things can heal the _faux pas_ of my Corporation’s instincts. I was sat there, talking a mile a minute and saying nothing at all, the whole time thinking, _come on, man, wind your neck in,_ but I couldn’t stop myself. I missed him. 

We’ve certainly been apart far longer than this, but I’ve rarely ached to see his face as much as I have over the last few days. Time is meaningless, after all. Even sat there across from him, in that very moment I missed him. I missed the easy way we usually talk. I missed Crowley as my trusted companion and friend, my erstwhile nemesis. I felt certain that I had lost something irreplaceable.

It can be lonely, here in The World on our own. It’s not as if you can form a true bond with a Human. They’re lovely people, they really are, but they’re gone in the blink of an eye. You’ve barely gotten to know them before they reach their dotage and forget who you are. Your demon companion is your sworn hereditary enemy, of course, but he can also become a very familiar and understanding companion as well.

He said something to me that I’ll document here, because it’s still running through my mind, and I’m sure there’s more to it than I yet realise.

He said: “I didn’t mean to push you.” Initially I assumed he meant something related to a tempting in Battersea I ended up doing in his stead (long story, I’ll get to that later on in the Guide, bear with me), but as it turns out, I’m fairly certain that he was talking about the other night. I can’t stop thinking about it. _I didn’t mean to push you._ Why would he think he pushed me? He kissed me, yes, it was his idea, but I certainly didn’t show any signs of objection or reticence at the time. He didn’t push. If anything, I think I might have done a bit of dragging, if I’m honest.

He said: “I lost my head a bit, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

I thought he was talking about the wine. The server had just brought us another, I didn’t realise he was talking about us. We were three hours in, and who knows how many stories down I was by that point. Lost his head? When he kissed me? I’m flattered, I admit. I understand what he meant, that’s not a bad description of the experience. I lost my head as well. We let our Corporations take charge for a little while, that’s all. No harm done.

_I didn’t mean to push you, I lost my head a bit, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again._

I’m not misreading that, am I? He thinks he barged his way in, that I wasn’t amenable? That he led me by the nose somehow, that I just went along with it?

I was nervous tonight. I didn’t respond to that suggestion the way I wish I had. These confessions he made, they were scattered through other conversations, hidden, dropped into quiet moments when I’d stopped to take a drink and a breath. I presume I only smiled and brushed them off, made light of them having misunderstood them completely, and then I must have sprung off on some other, lighter direction and trounced a new topic into the ground under the weight of a million careless words. I wish I’d been slower, paid better attention.

_I didn’t mean to push you, I lost my head a bit, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again._

I can’t stop thinking about his words. Do you think it would be fair to say that Crowley thought he’d wronged me? That I stopped him because he’d pressed on against my wishes? That he didn’t have my consent when we got a bit carried away on the sofa in my back room? That isn’t so. It wasn’t a Temptation, to be clear. I know it wasn’t. I wasn’t being manipulated by him. It was something else. Something more mundane. Something human.

One of the options they don’t give us, bizarrely, is the ability to go back in time to make a wee adjustment to what we’ve said or done here and there. That would be an excellent tool in the angelic toolkit if we could. I’d like to nip back to the pub in Tyburnia tonight and clarify. I’d ask more questions. I’d slow down and listen. And perhaps reel myself in a bit.

But instead I talked a blue streak for hours on end. I grew tired of the sound of my own voice, yet I persisted. I was so relieved to have him there with me again, and I didn’t want him to leave, I was fairly pinning him down with idle conversation. We drank wine of a quality not for sale at the public house in which we found ourselves, because no matter what conflict we’re sorting out between ourselves, we still have standards. 

He relaxed into the stream of verbiage, and I must confess, dear old chap, after the week I’ve had, and the wine, and the lovely breeze, and the joy of having him with me again, I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to. Resisting felt, how can I explain it: it felt _wrong_. It felt contrary to everything good and right in The World. It felt unfair. And I hadn’t understood his confessions, if that’s what they were. He sat there in the moonlight next to me, his sunglasses still on in the near darkness, his cheekbones carved out of heavenly glass, the scruff on his face starting to come in as it does at the end of the day, his lips turned up in a gentle smile the way they do when he’s pleased to be with me, his clavicle taunting me like the sweet-smelling boys hanging out of the window of an Athenian brothel, like the absolute jammiest bit of jam: reader, I kissed him. It was glorious.

Nigel will be pleased that at least I put _one_ of his suggestions to use, though doing so was a terrible choice on my part, I can see that now. Crowley was wearing leather trousers, which are a bit of an obstacle, and we were sitting in a crowded pub garden, so thankfully I could only progress so far. Nigel knows a thing or two about this pleasure lark, I must say. Barbers: what a wonder they are! I can imagine that putting the rest of his advice into practice with a willing partner in the right circumstances would be _spectacular_. I shouldn’t have taken his advice tonight, however. It wasn’t clear to me at the time. It is now.

When it all came to a shattering halt, my face was pressed into his neck. He smelled delicious. My hand had taken Nigel’s advice and had found its way somewhat indecently against the placket of Crowley’s leather trousers when he stroked my back gently and whispered into my ear, “Steady on.” 

I froze. He covered my hand with his: he was so gentle with me, but I understood. He was asking me to stop. It was me this time. I’d gone too far. He took my hand in his and squeezed it, as if to make me feel better about my mistake. He kissed me as though he were saying goodbye. I thought I might burst into tears.

The highs and lows of human existence are frankly staggering.

And thus go the consequences of an Angel mimicking free will: you make choices based on the desires and needs of your Corporation rather than what is expected of you in theory, and sometimes you will misread, or go too far, or want more than is on offer, and it’s fine, there’s no harm done, not really, only an awkward ending to an otherwise lovely evening, an awkward goodnight, and a numb walk home where it feels like something has died inside you, and your capacity for joy has reduced threefold. It’s ridiculously dramatic. It’s silly. It’s madness. My heart hurts, and I miss him again.

I have not made anything better. I have continued to bollocks it up.

It’s a complicated life Humans must lead, with all these indistinct and unclear choices to make. I feel unprepared for it, even after all this time. Human inventiveness is brilliant, but dangerous and costly. We would do well to respect it and treat it with care. 

I hope my ill-gotten wisdom can provide some semblance of assistance to you in your mission, my dear friend. 


	4. Your Demon: How to Thwart, Nullify, and Subdue Hell's Representative, Your Counterpart and Personal Nemesis

I hope it was thoroughly explained to you when you were given the assignment that you would have a demon to contend with. That is rather the entire point. And there’s a knack to doing so that I’m happy to share.

The Lords, Dukes, Archdukes, Major and Minor Marquesses, the Earls, the Dons, the Viscounts, and the various Baronets and Peers of Darkness that together make up the monstrously bloated upper middle management of Hell were the ones who thought the whole enterprise up in the first place, as I understand it. It was their decree that a demon should leave the sticky offices of the nether realms and join in the great experiment that is The World, with the specific intention to cause trouble in it, and lead its newly-emerged inhabitants towards sin and away from salvation.

You and I are here to thwart that demon, or, perhaps by your time, demons plural, and give Humans a fighting chance.

The first element of the mission is to stay aware of what the demon is up to, and what his plans are. I find it’s easiest just to ask him, but your demon may be less forthcoming than mine.

Once you have an awareness of his plans, you can fight the demon with all of your might in the traditional way, as per the brief, or you can do what I’ve done: negotiate a mutually beneficial partnership towards the same end, taking much less effort, time, and energy. It’s all quite civilised, really.

In order fully explain the nature of our arrangement and how we work together to ensure a good result for the Humans _and_ all while keeping both of our Head Offices happy with our work, I’ve invited the demon Crowley to my bookshop, which I have shuttered for the day, so that we can have a one-on-one, an interview, if you will, on this very subject. The transcript of which I will edit thoroughly at a later date. You shall find that transcript below.

Note: there will be a significant amount of wine involved in this interview. I have a _Leroy Domaine d'Auvenay Chambertin Grand Cru_ ready to go, and a back up, a 1966 _Petrus Pomerol_ after that. I may go deeper into the wine cellar if required.

AUTO TRANSCRIPTION BEGINS

CROWLEY: Is it on?

AZIRAPHALE: I…believe so. I followed the instructions. It made a little beep sound. Let me check. [shuffling, knocking] Are you working, old thing? [breathing] Not sure, there’s some sort of...light,...or...

CROWLEY: Let me see it. Here, no, Aziraph– you’re going to dro– [a loud bang] Oh, _now_ you’ve gone and done it.

AZIRAPHALE: Sorry, sorry! [shuffling, rattling] Sorry!

CROWLEY: Let me just–

AZIRAPHALE: Ah! There you are! [rattle] There there, now. Right as rain, little fellow! [two taps]

CROWLEY: Oh, for…[unintelligible] Okay. It’s on. Let’s put it…[light shuffling] right here. Don’t touch it, now. It’s fine. You’re all set.

AZIRAPHALE: Capital! Thank you, my dear, most kind. I am grateful for your help.

CROWLEY: Don’t go saying things that, not on the record!

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, right, of course: most nefarious of you, you foul fiend! 

CROWLEY: That’s better! 

AZIRAPHALE: I’m going to edit it afterwards, don’t worry.

CROWLEY: Oh, that sounds like a riot, good luck with that. Are you pouring?

AZIRAPHALE: Oh! Yes, certainly, here you are. [liquid being poured] I think you’ll like this one.

CROWLEY: I’m sure I will. Skaal! 

AZIRAPHALE: Cheers!

[clinking of glasses] 

CROWLEY: Ooooh, lovely.

AZIRAPHALE: It’s nice, isn’t it?

CROWLEY: Certainly more than passable.

AZIRAPHALE: I’d serve this to Gabriel, given the chance.

CROWLEY: You wouldn’t! 

AZIRAPHALE: I would! Only the best!

CROWLEY: He’d never appreciate it. It would be a waste.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah yes, you’re right. He’d never deign to–

CROWLEY: Might as well serve him Listerine.

[laughter]

CROWLEY: I did that once.

AZIRAPHALE: You served Gabriel _Listerine_? [laughter] Oh I can picture that.

CROWLEY: Can you?

AZIRAPHALE: In a Zinfandel glass. When he pops by for his usual friendly chinwag with Heaven’s favourite demon. Yes, I can see it. You two are the best of friends now, are you?

[laughter, rustling]

CROWLEY: Jealous?

AZIRAPHALE: A little.

CROWLEY: Mmm. No need.

AZIRAPHALE: No?

CROWLEY: You’re the only angel in my life, angel.

AZIRAPHALE: Quite right.

CROWLEY: It was Ligur, actually.

AZIRAPHALE: No!

[laughter]

CROWLEY: I served it to him in a Burgundy glass, in fact.

AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear. How posh!

CROWLEY: I told him it was _Chateauneuf De Pape,_ and it had just won an award. And that I’d stolen it from the Vatican for him.

AZIRAPHALE: You did not!

CROWLEY: I did!

[laughter]

AZIRAPHALE: What did he think of it?

CROWLEY: He knocked it back and asked for another. [laughter] He said he could tell it had been created by a churchman because it tasted so _angelic._

AZIRAPHALE: No! [laughs] I am terribly offended!

CROWLEY: As well you should be!

AZIRAPHALE: The horror!

CROWLEY: You don’t taste like Listerine.

AZIRAPHALE: [laughs] I should think not.

CROWLEY: You taste like…[rustling] well, like _Chateauneuf De Pape._

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, Crowley! That is very–

CROWLEY: But nicer.

AZIRAPHALE: –sweet of you to say! Of course no one in Heaven or Hell would understand what _Chateauneuf De Pape_ tastes like in the first place.

CROWLEY: It tastes like you.

AZIRAPHALE: And you taste like…

[shuffling, furniture shifting against the floor]

CROWLEY: Ha! Aren’t you meant to be interviewing me about something?

AZIRAPHALE: Oh! [more shuffling] Yes, quite. Ah. Let me see. [rustling of papers] I’ve written down my questions, there they are. Right here. Ah, could you pass me the– Yes, thank you. They’re more...they’re discussion points, really. And if there’s anything you don’t want to answer, please feel free to decline. This is only a bit of fun, really. Alright?

CROWLEY: Alright.

AZIRAPHALE: And I can always edit any awkward bits out later.

CROWLEY: Right.

AZIRAPHALE: Are you ready?

CROWLEY: As I’ll ever be.

AZIRAPHALE: Then we’re off! [furniture scrapes against the floor] First, my dear Crowley: how is it you came to be the demon sent into the Garden of Eden?

CROWLEY: Ah. Well, to be honest it wasn’t much of a contest.

AZIRAPHALE: No?

CROWLEY: Well, you know I’d taken an interest in creation from the start.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah yes! The astral phenomena! 

CROWLEY: Nebulae, yes.

AZIRAPHALE: You got involved early, didn’t you. 

CROWLEY: I did.

AZIRAPHALE: So beautiful. Truly breathtaking.

CROWLEY: Yeah. So I already had a foot in.

AZIRAPHALE: Some true artistry, that. Such lovely use of colour! The sprays of radiation are inspired!

CROWLEY: Cheers! When the word came down that there was to be a _garden,_ I was very interested.

AZIRAPHALE: You enjoy gardening.

CROWLEY: Yes. Hell’s not a great place for gardening, as it turns out. 

AZIRAPHALE: Too warm?

CROWLEY: Too toxic. And no one pays any mind to “keep off the grass” signs or “keep your mucky fingers off my flowers” either. Just...not a good place for gardens.

AZIRAPHALE: Or gardeners.

CROWLEY: When I heard there was to be a _tree of good and evil_ right in the middle of this Garden of Eden, well, I was reeled right in. That’s an inspired bit of husbandry, that. No one else cared about this “World” project at all. I mean, I was the only one to subscribe to the newsletter, for a start. 

AZIRAPHALE: There was a newsletter?

CROWLEY: Yeah, everyone was subscribed by default. There was a complicated opt-out procedure that everyone _but_ me queued up for. You had to fill out some paperwork and bring it to the local post office, get in the queue, wait for hours on end, there were some ticky-boxes and a skill-testing quiz, I believe, and they had to sign an affidavit, that sort of thing. This is Hell we’re talking about, remember. In the old days.

AZIRAPHALE: Right.

CROWLEY: So when Adam arrived I was the one of the few really paying much attention. By the time Eve made her appearance I had the front row to myself. She seemed smarter than the other one. 

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, she was, yeah.

CROWLEY: As a lark I said something about tempting Eve to eat the fruit of the tree. Stating the obvious, really. I mean, it seemed too on-the-nose to be an actual assignment. The Almighty might as well have put a neon sign by that tree that flashed EAT HERE, I didn’t think it really needed much temptation beyond what She’d already done. But, as you know, the legions of Hell aren’t what you’d call an _imaginative_ lot. They aren’t the sharpest little knives. Especially not back then. I was joking, but they took me dead seriously. They asked me to write up a formal proposal, it was ridiculous. Especially since it was clear that she was going to do it anyway.

AZIRAPHALE: What? No!

CROWLEY: Oh yeah, she was fascinated by that tree. Didn’t you notice that?

AZIRAPHALE: I thought she just liked spending time with me.

CROWLEY: Well, that goes without saying, but–

AZIRAPHALE: We were good friends, I thought!

CROWLEY: Of course you were! Yes. Of course. She adored you. You were the most interesting thing in that garden, by a long shot. But she was fixated on the tree.

AZIRAPHALE: I suppose so. She did ask a lot of questions about it.

CROWLEY: Exactly. Anyway: apparently my proposal impressed middle management, so without so much as a by-your-leave, they pinned a medal on me and _alley oop,_ there I was, in the Garden in corporeal form, with the order to _make some trouble._ I think I ran right into the back of your leg that first time, didn’t I?

AZIRAPHALE: I nearly stepped on you!

CROWLEY: I hadn’t got the locomotion bit down at that point.

AZIRAPHALE: It was a surprise! I shrieked!

CROWLEY: That’s right, you did! I remember that!

[laughter]

CROWLEY: So that’s how it happened.

AZIRAPHALE: Right.

CROWLEY: You were already there.

AZIRAPHALE: Well, I was guarding the tree. They knew you were coming.

CROWLEY: There’s that predestination thing again. She knew what was going to happen.

AZIRAPHALE: I suppose I didn’t do a very good job.

CROWLEY: You did! You did what you were supposed to do!

AZIRAPHALE: I thought I was preparing to fight _you_ ! It never occurred to me that I should fight _Eve!_

CROWLEY: Of course not! It would have been incredibly counter-productive to fight _Eve_. I certainly wasn’t going to try to muscle past you, trust me. Your sword was awfully impressive, and you seemed to know how to use it.

AZIRAPHALE: Well, I suppose so. I had practiced. There was a class.

CROWLEY: Was there?

AZIRAPHALE: There was choreography.

CROWLEY: You do love choreography.

AZIRAPHALE: I couldn’t fight _Eve._

CROWLEY: No!

AZIRAPHALE: She knew she wasn't even supposed to _think_ about that tree let alone touch it!

CROWLEY: Of course!

AZIRAPHALE: Was I supposed to keep you from even _talking_ to her?

CROWLEY: Well you couldn’t have done that _and_ guarded the tree at the same time, angel. Even you can’t be in two places at once. It was a catch-22.

AZIRAPHALE: She _was_ very interested in that tree.

CROWLEY: She was obsessed.

AZIRAPHALE: We talked a lot about the pros and cons of creating a tree that bore fruit that contained forbidden knowledge in the first place. 

CROWLEY: Exactly. She would have got there on her own anyway.

AZIRAPHALE: And then placing that tree in paradise: we had many conversations about what that might be all about.

CROWLEY: Yes!

AZIRAPHALE: And to make it smell so nice: it wasn’t designed to be ignored, was it.

CROWLEY: There was really nothing any of us could have done. We were surplus to requirements, when you really think about it.

AZIRAPHALE: I probably shouldn’t have let her get that close to it.

CROWLEY: Well, perhaps. Hey, I appreciated your help!

[paper falling on the floor]

AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear.

CROWLEY: [laughs] No, no! It’s fine! I was joking! You weren’t helping me, I promise. You did your job. It worked out.

AZIRAPHALE: Did it?

CROWLEY: Well, so far.

AZIRAPHALE: I don’t know.

CROWLEY: They let you stay on, didn’t they? You didn’t get punished for the Eve thing, did you?

AZIRAPHALE: No. 

CROWLEY: No sternly-worded memo?

AZIRAPHALE: No sternly-worded memo. [shuffling] Well, not about _that,_ at any rate.

CROWLEY: There you are. It was meant to be. 

AZIRAPHALE: Predestination again?

CROWLEY: Exactly! It wouldn’t have been any fun without them understanding Good and Evil anyway, would it? What’s the point of free will if you don’t have the knowledge to use it?

AZIRAPHALE: “Fun” is hardly the point.

CROWLEY: Are you sure about that? Maybe fun _is_ the point and Heaven didn’t get THAT memo.

AZIRAPHALE: Somehow I doubt it. Have you ever met the Metatron?

CROWLEY: Good point.

AZIRAPHALE: But I see what you’re driving at. The Humans need to have an understanding of Good and Evil or the whole thing falls apart.

CROWLEY: Exactly. There’s no Great Plan if they don’t have the capacity to make a choice.

AZIRAPHALE: I’m not sure anyone but us values their choice-making, to be honest.

CROWLEY: There’s that. 

AZIRAPHALE: Do you know what happens to the humans who choose our side?

CROWLEY: I presume they get a robe and join the celestial choir? 

AZIRAPHALE: I suppose they must.

CROWLEY: But you don’t know?

AZIRAPHALE: I’ve never met a Human in Heaven. Not even once.

CROWLEY: You’re not there very often. And when you’re there you’re in the office. There might be no Humans in there for a reason. Maybe it’s too boring for them. Maybe they’re off on a hill in the alps spinning in circles and singing about the hills being alive.

AZIRAPHALE: Very funny! Maybe. Have you met any Humans in Hell?

CROWLEY: Uh….yessssss.

AZIRAPHALE: What do they do? Is there a special place for them there?

CROWLEY: You...don’t want to know.

AZIRAPHALE: Oh dear.

CROWLEY: Yep.

[Liquid poured into glasses]

AZIRAPHALE: Maybe that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t spoken to Eve about Good and Evil. Maybe I _was_ helping you.

CROWLEY: Hey, now. I was the one who tempted her. I wrote a proposal, got approval, I got the medal, and I went up into the garden and did the deed, as specified. I got the commendation for it. I’m not prepared to share the credit, if anyone’s asking. It wasn’t your fault. It was my job.

AZIRAPHALE: I was never blamed for it. No one ever said that. It was understood that you were a wily adversary.

CROWLEY: Yes, the wiliest. 

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, it was my fault really though, wasn't it. 

CROWLEY: Of course not! 

AZIRAPHALE: I didn’t realise that our collaboration began so early.

CROWLEY: Well. It was all new then. How were we to know our words would be so powerful? I didn’t know Eve would be that easy to tempt, quite honestly. All I did was make a casual suggestion.

AZIRAPHALE: I did my best, I really did.

CROWLEY: Of course you did. You were amazing. Let me top you up. 

[shifting, glass rubbing against wood, liquid into a glass] 

CROWLEY: There you are. Nostrovia!

AZIRAPHALE: Prost! [clinking glasses] It’s all part of the Great Plan.

CROWLEY: Right. So, in answer to your question, [sound of feet being propped up on a coffee table] I took an interest. I make a profoundly obvious joke. That’s how I came to be the demon you’re meant to be thwarting.

AZIRAPHALE: _Meant_ to be?

CROWLEY: Came to be?

AZIRAPHALE: I _am_ thwarting you, I’ll have you know! Most effectively, I might add.

CROWLEY: Indeed! Instead of tempting members of the Loughborough Chamber of Commerce as was my original plan today, I am instead arrayed on your loveseat, getting slowly drunk on spectacular wine, and you are having your noble and righteous way with me. Nicely done!

AZIRAPHALE: [clears throat] Yes. Exactly.

CROWLEY: Go on, then.

AZIRAPHALE: [coughs] Right. Yes. [shuffling of papers, chair squeaks against the floor] My next question is: how did we come to work together? How would you characterise our working relationship? I’ll be careful about how I edit this bit.

CROWLEY: Well, it was damp. That’s how it started.

AZIRAPHALE: Yes. The working conditions became quite unpleasant.

CROWLEY: And we were working very hard for no particular reason. It’s not at all clear that we were making much difference with all that hard work. It didn’t make sense for us to work as hard as we were, in damp and cold conditions, for the same result we’d get if we just stayed home by the fire and put our feet up.

AZIRAPHALE: With a cup of cocoa and a good book.

CROWLEY: There are films I could be watching instead.

AZIRAPHALE: I suppose if either of us actually enjoyed the work itself we might not have seen it that way.

CROWLEY: You mean if I actually I enjoyed wreaking havoc on people’s lives? Or if you enjoyed the pure and unsullied act of thwarting me?

AZIRAPHALE: There are more pleasant ways to thwart you, I’ve discovered.

CROWLEY: You certainly have.

AZIRAPHALE: And it’s not as if it impedes the work, over all, one way or another.

CROWLEY: No. We are meeting our targets no matter what we do. Which is part of the issue, really: the ones setting the targets are not particularly inventive and have no real sense of what’s possible, do they. If they actually understood Humans or the world they’ve built, they would have established very different targets for us, I’d imagine.

AZIRAPHALE: Yes. They would have asked us to run for office.

CROWLEY: Definitely.

AZIRAPHALE: If you didn’t know better, you’d think that was the whole of Hell’s mission.

CROWLEY: You would.

AZIRAPHALE: No one accounted for the tremendous evil and tremendous good that would exist in The World with or without our actions.

CROWLEY: In the end, Humans don’t actually need us.

AZIRAPHALE: Not...as such, no.

CROWLEY: They are both worse and better than we are.

AZIRAPHALE: Yes.

CROWLEY: I suppose we’re just lazy, really.

AZIRAPHALE: I wouldn’t call us lazy!

CROWLEY: We have interests that diverge from expectations, then. We have other plans we’d like to be getting on with. We have hobbies. There’s far more to us than meets the eye. We cannot be reduced to a job title!

AZIRAPHALE: We enjoy The World for what it is.

CROWLEY: It’s far better than I ever imagined it could be.

AZIRAPHALE: And they don’t bother with it at all. They have no idea.

CROWLEY: They don’t know about _Chateauneuf De Pape,_ for a start.

AZIRAPHALE: That’s very true.

CROWLEY: They don’t know how wonderful it is to explore it. And after one’s had a little bit of it, how one comes to long for the taste of it ever after. They can’t understand the...the desires...that come along with...being here. Being us, here. Together. Do they. 

AZIRAPHALE: They do not!

CROWLEY: The longing. My side thinks it’s all about temptation towards evil, and your side thinks it’s about following rules and universal love, or whatever, but they’re wrong, both of them. They’re missing the...well, the individual side of things. 

AZIRAPHALE: Yes.

CROWLEY: The gloriousness of...the physicality of it all. The emotional elements of it that are neither Heavenly nor Hellish, but just _are_. And are worthy as they are. Where it gets so much more complicated and muddled.

AZIRAPHALE: They don’t understand the grey areas at all.

CROWLEY: They don’t! They really don’t. They don’t even know that grey areas exist.

AZIRAPHALE: That’s very true. And it’s most things!

CROWLEY: Yes. Even between...yes.

AZIRAPHALE: That’s something I thought my successor should know.

CROWLEY: Why do you think you’ll have a successor?

AZIRAPHALE: Well, you never know when they’ll get around to promoting me.

CROWLEY: Did Gabriel say something?

AZIRAPHALE: No. 

CROWLEY: Were you planning on applying for promotion?

AZIRAPHALE: No!

CROWLEY: Then why are you preparing for a successor? 

AZIRAPHALE: Well, I’ve always wanted to write a book.

CROWLEY: Ah. Case in point.

AZIRAPHALE: Yes! If I spent all my time thwarting you, I’d hardly have time for things like writing books. Or even for reading them, really. Or buying them. Or having a bookshop. That would be quite sad.

CROWLEY: If you followed the spirit of the rules to the letter, there are many...enjoyable and fulfilling things you might not be inclined to do.

AZIRAPHALE: Very true! There are far better things to do than waste all our time nullifying each other for no gain whatsoever.

CROWLEY: There really are. Far more...pleasurable things we could be doing for each other. Things that I...things that we’ve been–

AZIRAPHALE: You’re so right.

CROWLEY: I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually, about the things we’v–

AZIRAPHALE: There are plays to see!

CROWLEY: Well, yes. There are plays.

AZIRAPHALE: And concerts!

CROWLEY: Yes.

AZIRAPHALE: And the restaurants! Oh, the meals! You could go do a different restaurant for every meal, every day, and never get to them all!

CROWLEY: That’s true, yes.

AZIRAPHALE: The art! There is so much beautiful art to enjoy! More every day!

CROWLEY: Yes, that’s true.

AZIRAPHALE: We could thwart each other all day, every day, or we could go to a museum and have a nice time. And have a cream tea afterwards.

CROWLEY: Yes. Or...yes.

AZIRAPHALE: Hold on, I’ve got another bottle, one moment.

[Chair against the floor]

CROWLEY: [unintelligible]

AUTO TRANSCRIPTION ENDS


End file.
